


shaking hands

by redblueunderoos



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Panic Attack, Peter Parker Whump, Whumptober 2019, but its no suprise that i am very late, well technically november
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 19:47:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21287189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redblueunderoos/pseuds/redblueunderoos
Summary: well i procrastinated all october and didn't work on a) the fic i already started b) any of the whumptober prompts, but i still want to participate so enjoy this a whole month late!
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	shaking hands

Nothing had been the same since his body had been stitched back together piece by fragile piece. Not since every atom in his body had been torn apart and sewed back together. 

Peter balled his hand into a tight fist, trying to still its incessant shaking. His nails dug little half moons into his palms and his knuckles turned stark white, but they continued to shake. 

It’s 7:30 at night and Peter was out for his nightly patrol. The sky had turned a brilliant orange as the sun set, coating everything in warm light. 

Peter shut his eyes tight and clutched his shaking hands to his chest. Before Titan, he’d loved sunsets. Loved to sit on rooftops and marvel at how the low sun would set the New York skyline ablaze, light refracting off skyscrapers as if crystallized. 

But things were different now. The tangerine haze reminded him of that god-forsaken planet. And as the light faded from the sky, he was reminded of the way he faded away into dust, piece by piece. 

A shaky breath escaped him. This was so stupid. He shouldn’t be afraid of sunsets. 

It seemed like no matter how much he’d convinced himself that he was fine, that he was ok, or just plain tried to forget, his body remembered. As much as Peter wanted to move on, his body kept reacting to things. 

He couldn’t control the fact that sometimes his chest would feel so tight that it hurt to breath. He didn’t understand why sometimes his hands would start trembling with such ferocity. He couldn’t explain why he sometimes felt like something bad was about to happen, even though nothing ever did. Or why’d he’d suddenly feel dizzy and distant and devoid of comprehension. 

Peter sat on that rooftop and curled into himself, feeling waves of panic and confusion and sadness and fear and pain wash over him. It was too much to process and Peter couldn’t pinpoint a single clear thought or emotion. His chest hurt partially from the pain of feeling and partially from the fact that his heart was beating so hard he thought it might burst. 

Peter wasn’t sure how much time passed, but when his breathing had finally calmed, his thoughts stopped swirling, and he had no tears left, he raised his head to find the sky was dark and the stars were out.

A slight tremor ran through his body and he realized just how cold and exhausted he was. He contemplated just curling back up on the rooftop and sleeping. He thought of calling Happy to ask for a ride home, but holding a conversation felt like too much at the moment. 

He glanced at his hands. They quivered slightly, the remnants of anxiety still running through his veins, but numbness was starting to take over. He felt too tired to feel anything at all, completely drained from his battle with an invisible threat. He pushed himself up on his feet and rubbed a hand across his tired red-rimmed eyes. 

Then, with one more glance out at the twinkling New York nightlights, he took a deep breath, and swung home.


End file.
